


If all things break or turn to dust

by threeninefour



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 12:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeninefour/pseuds/threeninefour
Summary: A very short drabble on the Woman, our favourite high-functioning sociopath, and the British Government.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC.

"You loved her."

Sherlock smiled thinly in response.

"And you happened to have her phone?" Mycroft continued, inquiring but impassive at the same time.

"Yes." Sherlock's one-word response was short but his tone was surprisingly normal.

Mycroft stared at his brother with his blue eyes, the expression on his face not unlike a snake's. "You know that she was shot to death."

"Yes," Sherlock repeated. "John isn't that brilliant a liar, it seems."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow at that. If his brother knew about her death because of John Watson's amateur deception skills, he would not have responded in that manner. He'd have made some unrealistic offhand remark about how her fate would have came sooner or later. _Not_ that he'd mean it. Or he would've responded with just one word, effectively cutting off the conversation.

He wouldn't criticise John's lying skills, or engage in further conversation on her.

Mycroft straightened his vest. "Then you should also know that she's alive."

Sherlock went rigid, critically scrutinising Mycroft's stance. He started after a pause, "You'd know that, wouldn't you?"

"Stating the obvious, brother dear," Mycroft drawled and lightly pursed his lips, "Considering you managed to _rescue_ her with such ease." Sherlock could not have infiltrated the terrorist camp, pose as an executioner, provide Irene Adler an escape route and also successfully evaded suspicion or any trouble throughout the whole process, slithering out like how he went in, in the time frame of twenty-five minutes. Mycroft had a two or so agents planted in the unruly and unoriginal but effective terrorist group halfway across the globe just in case— _he had calculated a probability of ninety-six point four percent_ — Sherlock Holmes decided to save the woman he cared for.

" _Extracted_." Yes, Sherlock may not be in love with the Woman, but he was _definitely_ attracted to her in a way unexplored by himself. Maybe even _romantically_.

Mycroft stood up from his chair and fondled with his glass. "You love her. But do keep in mind that caring is not an advantage, brothermine. Nothing stays." _Not even love_.

"Yes, yes, Mycroft. If you didn't speak, no one would've known you were a broken recorder." Ah. Back to the insults.

"We wouldn't want Britain's high functioning sociopath suffering a heartbreak, would we?"

Sherlock gave no reply, and turned to leave, but halted at the doorway. " ' _Caring is a disadvantage_ '," he repeated Mycroft's words in a high-pitched voice.

Sherlock craned his neck, turning his head back, brown mop of curls lightly bouncing, eyeing Mycroft. "If all things break or turn to dust, brother, you should follow your own advice."

"Don't you have someone else to stalk or to threaten? Goodbye, Mycroft." The door shut behind him, the soft _bang_  resounding in the pin-drop silence. 

Mycroft was left alone, with the smile he heard in his brother's voice echoing in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a Kudos or a comment if you liked it! And do check out And Under We Go, a one-shot by me on the Holmes brothers. (And sister.)


End file.
